


Let slip the dogs of war

by inanhourofdreaming



Category: Damien (TV), The Fall (TV 2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 12:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17100767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inanhourofdreaming/pseuds/inanhourofdreaming
Summary: DS Tom Anderson meets Damien Thorn in a bar in the middle of the Belfast strangler case.





	Let slip the dogs of war

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the middle of the Fall. I don't know where it came from but I drank some wine and I'm off for a week and so here it is.

Tom noticed him the moment he walked in. It was almost impossible not to — there was nothing particularly special about any one feature, but he had a kind of energy you couldn’t help but notice. Not that the features were anything to scoff at. He was symmetrical. Built, but not overly so. He went to the bar and ordered a whiskey. Tom stayed in the corner and watched him drink it. Stella hadn’t invited him back to her room again and he was feeling antsy. The serial killer, whoever he was, was on the loose, and they weren’t anywhere near close enough to finding him. Progress was slow. The man finished his drink.

  
Tom approached the bar and flagged the bartender, who responded pretty much immediately. It wasn’t a busy night.

  
“Another for him, please, and the same for me.”

  
The man looked up at him and Tom felt his pulse race. He'd been on the force long enough to have a good sense for danger. This man? This man was _dangerous_. Stella felt like this, too. No certainty as to which side of the law they were on but dangerous all the same.

  
“I can get my own,” the man said, but not forcefully. American.

  
“Aye, but why should you have to?” Tom said, and didn’t turn away. The man nodded his head and raised his eyebrows in concession.

  
“Damien,” he said, and held out a hand. Tom took it.

  
“Tom,” he replied.

  
“You don’t really want to be messing with me,” Damien said. “I can be bad luck.” But he looked Tom right in the eye and didn’t look away and Tom didn’t join the force because he craved safety.

  
“I think I’ll risk it,” Tom said.

  
Damien smiled.

* * *

 

Damien had scars all across his chest. On his feet. Tom didn’t ask. He was busy with other, better things.

 

* * *

 

Tom showed up to work to shadow Stella and follow her orders, but every glance from her reminded him of another one. He came back to the bar the next night, and Damien was there, waiting. They didn’t bother with the drinks.

 

“You like it,” Damien said, tracing a hand across Tom’s chest.

  
“What?”

  
“The danger,” he said. “That’s why you’re here.”

  
Tom hummed.

  
“Maybe,” he said.

  
“It hasn’t ended well for anyone else I’ve been around,” Damien leaned back. Tom followed him.  
“Not much has ended well for me, anyway,” Tom said.

  
“Maybe that will change,” Damien said.

 

* * *

 

Tom saw Damien every night. He didn’t tell him about the case, exactly. No details. Lots of other things. But Damien knew there was a serial killer. He may not have been from here, but he read the news enough and people were talking about it, even in the bar where they’d met. Tom wasn’t really sure what Damien was there for. He’d said he was a war photographer, but there was no war in Belfast he’d be interested in.

 

“I’m not the one you’re looking for, if you’re wondering,” Damien said one night.

“I know,” Tom said, though he wasn’t really sure until Damien said it.

  
Damien asked anyway.

  
“Whoever this man is, he’s not like you,” Tom said. “Whatever you are, it’s bigger than him. He does this because he needs to feel powerful.” He looked at Damien. “I don’t get the feeling you need to do anything to _feel_ powerful.”

  
The air around Damien was always filled with power and promise and they both knew it. Tom wanted to know what it looked like when he let it go.

 

* * *

 

 

The police caught Paul Spector. Tom got shot. He didn’t have Damien’s number to call him even if he’d wanted to. It didn’t matter. Stella left after getting her guilt out, then Gail, who’d at least made him smile, and then there he is, eyes practically glowing with anger.

  
“The man who did this,” Damien said, approaching with no hesitation and pushing into Tom’s space. Tom relaxed into his grip, the pressure of Damien’s hand on the back of his neck pulling him close. He should have been more careful, shouldn’t be open about being close to a man like this but. Damien’s eyes were intense up close and Tom swore he heard the rumbling growl of hounds.

  
“Dead,” Tom said, instead of pulling away.

  
“Good,” Damien said and kissed him.

  
Tom didn’t notice Stella at all as she passed by them on her way out. He had more immediate things to think about. He didn’t see her smile in their direction.

 

* * *

 

 

Damien started coming to Tom’s after that. Tom shouldn’t be able to afford the view he had but the building didn’t want to update to meet fire code standards and the landlord liked having a DS about to quash any problems that might come up. Damien liked to look out over the city from the balcony. He didn’t seem to care much about temperature or weather. He seemed untouchable, a king surveying his kingdom. Belfast, city of crime, didn’t seem much of a kingdom to Tom.

Paul Spector lived but claimed to forget everything that happened before 2006. Tom figured it was bullshit but Stella was the brilliant one. She was the best boss he’d ever had, harsh and demanding but also phenomenal at her job. She’d figured out how to catch him out. Tom could be the hand of that justice. Damien was possessive.

“You slept with her,” he said. “You like her.” Tom felt the built-up tension inhabiting Damien’s muscles, the possessive fervor he was only barely keeping at bay.

  
“I did,” Tom said. “I do. She’s brilliant. But she’s not you.”

  
He left Damien with no doubts as to who he was thinking of now. He had the feeling Damien would like Stella, too, one day.

 

* * *

 

 

Paul Spector beat Stella badly and broke Tom’s arm. Damien was there again at the hospital. Tom had his number by now but he knew that he didn’t have to call. Damien would know. Damien always knew, somehow. His fury was tangible, the subhuman howls of angry hounds emanated out all around him. The world vibrated on all the wrong frequencies and all of it for him. All because Tom had been hurt and Damien didn’t like it.

  
“He’s going to die,” Damien said, with dead certainty. Tom loved him. Tom loves him.

  
“You can’t do it yourself,” Tom said, instead of telling him no. Damien lifted his eyebrows again.

  
“Do you really think I’d have to?” he asked.

  
“No,” Tom said. Knew.

  
“He’ll pay for this,” Damien said. “For touching what’s mine.”

  
“I am,” Tom said. “Yours.”

  
“I know, Tom,” Damien said. It was a promise.

 

There was a riot in the mental hospital where Paul Spector was being held. He killed himself, Tom was told. The hounds sang a song of blood and vengeance. The song was Damien’s. But that was ok, because Tom was Damien’s, too.


End file.
